


What better way to raise hell

by Excuseyouclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/F, Found Family, Ghost Town, Ghosts, saloon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excuseyouclarke/pseuds/Excuseyouclarke
Summary: After a tragic end to their high life of scamming and robbery, Clarke makes a drastic move to keep Josephine alive. Now they're moving to a ghost town, the only place that's safe for them, and where Josie will fit in.It was supposed to be a quiet life, somewhere to see their days out together. But Clarke's not made for a quiet life, she buys the old Saloon and brings a dead town back to life. But her wild days soon come and catch up with her - and desperate times mean desperate measures.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Josephine Lightbourne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13
Collections: TROPED Choice: Western!





	What better way to raise hell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Troped Western  
> Theme: Weird west  
> Tropes:  
> Bounty hunted  
> Saloon AU  
> Ghost town  
> Found family
> 
> Happy reading Tropers!

**WANTED!**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

**CLARKE GRIFFIN**

**FOR ROBBERY, MURDER & CHEATING AT CARDS**

**ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS**

**$10,000 REWARD**

Clarke Griffin’s name hangs off every man’s lips in the west. She wishes more than anything that it was a good thing, but now she’s notorious for her scams and robbery and for the life she took. Josephine was the same until—well, everyone knows about Josephine, or at least, they think they do.

Clarke doesn’t want that life anymore, and neither does Josephine. They’ve seen enough tragedy and had enough adventures to last them a lifetime. Now is the time for settling down, for putting down roots and living out the rest of their lives as boring and as miserably as the fates allow. That was never the life she wanted, and it was never the life Josephine was intended for. 

It’s the life they have to live if Clarke wants to keep her head on her shoulders. 

They reach the sleepy town of Arkadia in the middle of a scorching summers day, the dry desert heat is going to kill her before any bounty hunter does. Her feet has blisters from her boots and her hairs soaked from sweat under her hat—the hat is, unfortunately, a necessity when on the road, though. 

They had heard about Arkadia back in their days of town hopping, they always skirted around it though. Nothing there held their interest, now it’s the only place that would possibly accept them — criminals or not. 

The place is a dump, desolate and unkempt, it desperately needs some love, but who here is going to love a place like this?

“It’s awful,” Josie sticks her nose up at it, they were used to the high life, staying in the best places and slipping out before the bill was due, flirting with men for drinks—men who had a few too many drinks and were only interested in how low their necklines went. They were used to the best of the best, now they’re with the lowest of the low, but Clarke’s fine with that if it keeps them alive and together. “Absolutely goddamn awful.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Clarke mutters, fanning herself as she looks around. Perhaps it’s too early in the day to see anymore — or maybe they don’t want to be seen, she wouldn’t blame them, not one bit. “But I think this is it, unless you can think of anywhere that’s willing to accept you as you are.”

It earns a glare off Josephine, but Clarke doesn’t care. She’s doing what’s best for both of them. They may not be accepted here at first, but the locals will get used to them, they won’t have a choice because Clarke isn’t going anywhere.

Ahead of her, at the end of a dry cracked road is a saloon, much like the rest of the town it’s desperately in need of some love. Perhaps that’s why it’s up for sale. 

It’s an awful idea, truly it is. 

“Oh no,” Josie shoots her a glare, “we came here for a quiet life, buying a saloon is the opposite of that.”

“I know,” Clarke appeases, and she does know why they came here, out of desperation and love, surely she deserves something here? “I’m only thinking about it.”

Josie snorts, she knows as well as anybody that Clarke doesn’t think about things, she’s impulsive and irrational, by the time the idea’s in her head she’s already made up her mind. “You really wanna buy that dump, in this ghost town?”

Clarke gives her a dubious look, but she’s right, she wants to buy that dump of a saloon in this ghost town. It’s not like anything’s going to become of it, there’s a couple of hundred people in this town at most, it’s not like they’re going to be drawing in people from all over, you have to be pretty desperate to come here. 

“Yeah,” Clarke decides suddenly, “I want to buy the dump.” She strides forward, leaving Josie gritting her teeth in annoyance in her wake. The place is dim and desolate, there’s a man standing behind the bar cleaning glasses, and someone else slumped over the bar drunk. She imagines it gets busier of a night—she prays to whoever’s listening that it gets busier of a night. 

If it doesn’t, she’s going to have to take up a hobby that she hates, like knitting. 

“Howdy,” The bartender nods, though it’s a halfhearted greeting. He gives Josie a twice over, but it’s not the usual look she gets recently, the confused, half—horrified look when they can’t quite figure her out. It’s a far cry from the looks of admiration that she’s used to—but that’s why they’re here. “What can I do you ladies for?”

Clarke can feel Josie’s disdain next to her, she knows that this could well and truly be an awful idea. “I hear you’re looking at selling up,” Clarke smiles her most charming smile—it doesn’t work here. 

“That I am,” the man nods, “I’ve had enough, need to move on, you know?”

Clarke doesn’t know, they’re here because she can’t move on—or rather, she can’t let Josie move on without here, and Josie won’t let her take any drastic measures, so here they are. “How much? I got cash, however much you want I got.”

The man gives her an appraising look, does he know how desperate she is for this life? “I don’t want your money, What am I gonna do with that? My times over here, it’s about time I moved on.”

Clarke nods, perhaps immortality isn’t for everyone. “I appreciate that,” she tells him sincerely. 

“Yeah yeah, just take of the place, I can’t keep up with the kids anymore, I hope you do better. You got a recipe?” He nods towards Josie, who curls up her lips at the thought of the drinks Clarke makes up. She’s tried desperately hard to stop the taste of death that the drink brings, she’s tried to make it taste more like the fine whiskey they’re used to stealing. 

She doesn’t know if it really had worked, or if Josie just appeases her by telling her that it does. 

“I picked up a few tricks on the road,” Clarke assures him, “I got me some more tricks, too.”

He looks over her with a well—earned smirk, “Yeah I bet you do. You go get yourselves acquainted with the town, I’ll give you the keys at sundown.”

With a nod, Clarke makes her way out, Josie close on her heels. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“I think it’s an idea,” Clarke shrugs, “I never said it was a good one.”

She knows Josie, knows her better than she knows herself. Spent years on the road with her, day and night they were never far away from each other. So she knows that she’s not happy about this decision, just like she knew that Josie wasn’t ready to die, that she wanted Clarke to bring her back, no matter what the cost.

The town is exactly what Clarke expected, the people glare and turn up their noses at her, but that’s okay, because she’s not here to make friends, she’s here to survive. They don’t care that she’s an outlaw meant for the gallows, they care that she’s alive. 

They tell her she’s crazy when she announces she’s just bought out the saloon, the place is as dead as the rest of the town, but Clarke couldn’t care less, at least it’s something to do. 

At sundown, the barkeep hands over the keys and Clarke looks around the place—it’s a dump, there’s no getting around the fact. The doors are hanging off their hinges and the bars all cracked. It needs a serious lick of paint—but she’ll be damned if this doesn’t feel like home. 

Josie’s arms wrap around her from behind, and her head rests on her back, they could be in a battered up saloon in the middle of the desert or caught in a gunfight, Josie will always be home for her. 

Which is why she took such drastic measures to keep her here. 

“You didn’t have to do all of this for me,” Josie murmurs, despite everything, she feels warm. Maybe not physically, but her being around makes Clarke’s heart warm, and that’s all she can ever ask for. 

“Who said I’m doing it for you?” Clarke smiles, “I’m just being selfish, who else is going to go along with my harebrained scheme’s”

“Certainly not me anymore,” Josie snorts, “I’m a changed woman now, don’t you know.”

“Now Josephine Lightbourne, who could have done that?”

“I’m damned if I know,” Josie presses a cold kiss to the exposed skin on her neck, Clarke shivers and turns in her hold, places her hands on her shoulders. “Dance with me?”

“Always,” Clarke agrees, and in the dim saloon that now belongs to them, on the first night of the rest of their life, they dance on the sticky floors, and her life couldn’t be anymore perfect. 

There’s a mattress and a couple of pillows in the room above the saloon, she guesses not many people really sleep around here. Where she sleeps doesn’t bother her, she could fall asleep on the desert floor and still get a good nights shut-eye—she has, many times. Josie curls around her, and it’s the best sleep she’s had in a long time. 

*

The next morning, when the sun’s still low and she’s still sleepy, Clarke drags herself out of bed and inspects the saloon in the daylight. 

She really did get this place on the whim, calling it a dump is an understatement. The walls are filled with bullet holes that cast beams of light, dust floating like specs of gold in the air. She can do this, she patch it up and make something of herself. 

It’s a good job her daddy taught her how to do everything by herself, to never rely on a man to do the hard work because there’s no men around here wanting to work, and gold pieces don’t mean a thing when you’re dead, so there’s no bribing them, either. 

She keeps her head held high, and a song on her lips, Josie helps where she can, or when she wants, which isn’t very often. People don’t look at her funny here, they know what she is, and don’t care about who she is. 

Clarke travels between towns with her hat low, steering clear of the wanted posters with her face on them. There’s a pretty reward for her head, and Clarke knows just how much the men in these godforsaken towns like their money. She buys what she needs to quietly and leaves just a quiet, she has no intention of hanging around with the living, she’s very happy being the only person with a heartbeat in a room. 

People mock her, laugh at her and ask what she thinks she’s going to achieve by doing the place up, ain’t no one buying the finest whiskey here. But Clarke’s not selling whiskey, she’s selling just what they need. Sure, they get it from somewhere else, but she can guarantee it’s not as good as hers. 

Josie’s got a hell of a mouth on her, she’ll happily frighten away the townspeople when they mock her. Clarke does have to remind her that soon, they’ll need them people, even just to keep them entertained. 

Gone are the days of cheating at cards and stealing men’s hearts and money. Living on the road and sneaking around the back of saloons, drunk on love and whiskey they didn’t pay for. 

Gone are the days running from the law in a hail of bullets, those days were left when one strayed to close to Josie’s heart and Clarke had to make a quick decision. 

She’ll never regret that decision, until the day she goes too she’ll never regret it. If Josie wanted it some other way, she’s never said anything, and Clarke knows she wasn’t ready to go, just like Clarke wasn’t ready to let go of her. 

“That’s a mighty pretty colour,” somebody whistles from behind her, it’s mocking—of course it is, what else would it be? Clarke turns to see a wiry man standing behind her, her eyes won’t properly focus on him, but she’s used to that, especially in this town. 

“Almost as pretty as your eyes,” Clarke simpers back, the man narrows his eyes at her, and she vaguely recognises him as the man slumped over the bar on her first day here. If she’s going to get a reputation around here, it may as well be a bad one, it’s how it’s always been. “And nowhere near as pretty as your smile.”

“Yeah you’re a real funny one,” the man snarls, “you got a name?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Clarke doesn’t stop painting the doors, they were in desperate need of some colour. 

“The names Murphy,” he tips his hat at her, “I’m relying on this place to bring the good stuff.”

“Oh, it’s the good stuff,” Josie saunters out of the bar, wiping her hands on her dress, “the best damn one you’ve ever had—and trust me, I’ve had plenty.”

Murphy smirks slowly as he looks between them, the pretty ghost and her stubborn lover. “It better rival Jasper Jordans, no one in this town drinks anything but his stuff.”

“Not a soul but you?” Clarke questions with a raised eyebrow, she won’t pretend to know this towns politics. 

“Naw, if he weren’t already dead I’d have put a bullet through him a long time ago. The problem you’ve got, little lady is that the old barkeep’s stuff tasted like piss water, and Jaspers — well it don’t. It’s not much better, but that weren’t hard.”

“Please,” Josie scoffs, “I don’t know where ya’ll are getting your recipes from, but trust me when I say Clarke’s is the damn drink you’ll ever taste.”

Murphy looks over the saloon in amusement, “Well, you’d better get a move on, ‘cause your first customers decaying more and more by the day and that’s not a good look.”

Clarke drops her paintbrush back into the paint tin, she’s running low in this one, but there’s plenty more where that came from. Getting a move on was fine in theory, but there’s only four hands on this job and one mighty big saloon to get through. Plus she has to sort out the back to start her brewing, especially if she’s going to be doing big batches, not just cup fulls to keep Josie going. 

“Well gee golly, Mr Murphy, if this is gonna get done before you decay you better pick up a brush and help me,” Clarke tells him bluntly, beside her, Josie snorts and waves a paintbrush at him. She knows people like Murphy, they’re out for themselves, don’t want to help no one, he’s happy to sit back and watch others do the hard work and reap the rewards for himself.

Which is why she’s so surprised when he takes the paintbrush off Josie and begrudgingly starts painting the slats of the door. She exchanges a grin with Josie before carrying on, Murphy’s right, they need to get a move on. 

The problem with being the only one with a beating heart here is she’s the only one who needs to take breaks, the summer sun is scorching and her neck is burning. She sits in the shade of the saloon while Murphy and Josie carry on the work. As much as she wants to do it by herself, maybe this was too ambitious. 

But sitting around sulking because she’s too hot isn’t getting her anywhere, and the water doesn’t quite quench her thirst. So she stands with a stretch and a roll of her neck and carries on. She’s surprised when another figure comes up behind them and clears their throat. She expects them to tell her she’s mad, just like everyone else, does but they don’t. Instead, he picks up a brush and gets started on the window frames. 

“That’s awful kind of you,” Clarke tells him, he’s got dark eyes and darker hair, he’s going fuzzy around the edges but why on earth should he not. “I appreciate the help Mr…”

“Blake,” the man grunts, “Bellamy Blake. If you’re planning on taking down Jasper Jordan then I’m here to help you, thieving little twerp.”

Clarke blinks, is that what people think of her, that she’s here to take over the town? “Oh, I’m not here to take anyone down, I’m just tryin’ to make the days go by, they’re awful long when you’re still alive.”

The man grunts and shakes his head, “I don’t remember being alive all too well, nor do I care to, but if I never have to see to Jasper Jordan or Monty Green again I’ll be a happy man.”

“Awe Blake, did they beat you at cards again?” Murphy heckles, Bellamy’s jaw tightens in response, cards is a sore subject in these little towns, and boy does Clarke know about that. 

“They’re damn lying cheats is what they are. This colours awful bright, you sure that’s what you’re going for?”

“This town could use some brightening up,” Clarke grumbles, but no one says any more on the matter. 

She’s yet to meet the infamous Jasper Jordan and Monty Green, but from what she’s heard, they’re the main suppliers in the town, and from what Murphy and Bellamy have told her, the people in this town don’t stray far from what they know. It doesn’t bother Clarke, but the last thing she needs is to make enemies here, enemies who would tip off her enemies, she doesn’t want to end up in a noose.

She tries her hardest to put it out of her mind, while she can’t exactly keep her head down—she’s painting the towns saloon bright red, she’s not exactly inconspicuous—but she can not piss people off for the first time in her life. She can try at least. 

That night, Josie rolls over on the mattress and gives her an unsure smile, and Clarke’s heart sinks for a moment. She’s in a perpetual state of fear these days, worried that she did the wrong thing, keeping Josie here, that it was selfish and irrational, that perhaps Josie would have been happier staying dead. 

Not that it’s in Josie’s nature to be polite, she’s the loudest, bluntest woman she knows—and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s pretty confident that if Josie didn’t want this life, then she wouldn’t be here. But still, one day she might bore of it, she’ll get sick of this dead-end town and the domesticated life they’re leading, she’ll miss the adventure and the scams they used to pull, living the high life and never apologising for anything. 

“What are you thinking?” Clarke murmurs into the darkness of their tiny, dusty bedroom. She’s put so much energy into making sure the saloon is up and running that up here got neglected. She doesn’t care much, it’s just a place to rest her head for a couple of hours before she gets back to work. 

“That you didn’t have to go to all of this trouble for little ol’ me,” the words are light, but there’s an uncertainty in her eyes. 

“I’ll just leave you dead on the side of the road next time, yeah?” Clarke jokes, and prays to whoever's listening that the fear doesn’t creep into her tone. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Josie kicks her leg lightly, “I mean, this—” she gestures down to the saloon, “— all of this work, the long days painting and tryin’ to sort the bar out, we used to get in gunfights and town jump until we weren’t welcome in the bars anymore. We lived the high life, it never stopped and now you’re worryin’ about colours and wood clashin’. Don’t you miss it? The fun and the adventure—we used to have a lot of that.”

“Maybe a little,” she confesses, “but what fun is it without you? Do you miss it, do you wish I’d have just let you—”

“No,” Josie interjects before Clarke can finish. “I don’t wish that. Clarke Griffin I’ll take this dead little town if it means I get to be with you.”

“Good,” Clarke leans forward to place a kiss on her lips, chaste and sweet, “‘cause you’re stuck with me. I’d take a hundred of these dead towns if it means I get to live out my days with you.”

*

After a week of non-stop repairs, Clarke thinks the Saloon finally looks acceptable. She didn’t do it alone though, she had Josie, and Bellamy and Murphy out of spite for Jasper and Monty, not that she’s complaining, help is help no matter what the motive. 

She sets up her so-called brewery out the back, it’s not  _ really _ a brewery, she doesn’t have to brew anything, but she’s going to—hopefully—be making larger batches, she needs to make sure she’s got the ratio’s right for it to still taste good. She’s had enough of her bad batches spat back at her. 

She doesn’t dwell on what she had to trade in to get the recipe in the first place, it’s not worth the thought anymore. Who needs a soul, anyway?

She gets the first batch going, but as she can’t taste test it herself, she gets Josie to be her taster. Hopefully it’s not as bad as the earlier ones. But it’s still not right. She can tell by the way Josie curls up her lip in disgust. 

“It’s not  _ awful,  _ but it’s not your best work either.”

Clarke chews on her tongue, with no way of knowing exactly what’s wrong with it, it’s a tough position to be in. Josie doesn’t know how it’s made, either — so it’s a long night of adding and taking away ingredients until she gets it right.

She just wants to get something right. 

Finally, when the suns long gone down and the moons sitting high and proud in the night sky, Josie announces this might just be better than it was before. 

Emphasis on the  _ might. _

Clarke slumps down on the floor, the moonlight shines through the cracks and illuminates her failings. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke mutters weakly. It’s been a hell of a week, and she’ll be forgiven for sulking, just this once. “This would have been so much easier if it was you doing this, you’d know how to make it without messing it up, you’re the clever one. That damn bullet shoulda’ hit me.”

“Hey,” Josie grimaces, “don’t be talkin’ like that. You’re a genius, maybe not as brilliant as me, but I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“With a Witch,” Clarke smirks, “and some damn good bargaining skills. You could never.”

“I damn well could,” Josie smirks, Clarke leans her head on her shoulder, she feels more alive now, not warm and soft like she used to be, but she’s here and that’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever going to matter. “Why don’t you get some sleep, it’s not true what they say, y’know?  _ You can sleep when you’re dead _ —it’s horseshit. I can’t remember the last time I slept.”

Clarke does just that, falls asleep on the hard wooden floor, tomorrow’s a brand new day, the day she’ll open her saloon and hell, maybe she’ll make something of herself. 

*

The day of the opening doesn’t go as planned. 

When does her life ever? The only people in there are Murphy and Bellamy, Josie too but she’s obliged to be there. 

“Don’t take it so hard,” Bellamy tries to reassure her, “this is the best damn stuff I’ve drank in — well, I can’t remember since when, I don’t think I’ve ever drank anything quite like it. It’s almost like being alive again. Once the rest of these folks see how good it is they’ll come rushing.”

Clarke tries to be satisfied, she knew she wasn’t exactly going to be flocked with patrons on the first night, but still, she wanted something. And she’s bored, bad things happen when she’s bored. 

The saloon is a perfect example of that. She’s never had free time before, she’s always been on the road, always had someone to be scamming or a man to be robbing. Now she’s in some small town where all anyone seems to do is play cards and scowl at her. 

Well, she’s had enough. She can't do this like she thought she could, she can’t just sit around in an empty bar playing the pretty barkeep, that’s not her life. 

“Where are they?” Clarke demands, “the rest of this godforsaken town, where are they?”

Murphy and Bellamy exchange a look, one that tells her they know troubles brewing. She must have that look about her. 

“They’re in town,” Murphy smirks, “Playin’ cards, we can take you there if you’re about to start a fight.”

Clarke picks up the bottle, she’s not here to start a fight, she’s here to get some entertainment, and if she isn’t the best damn card cheat in the west then she doesn't know who is. 

“Let’s go then.”

For what it’s worth, Murphy and Bellamy are only going along with it because they want to see Jasper and Monty taken down, not because they want her to do well. But she’s alright with that, because in all honesty she’s bored too. 

She doesn’t know what she expected Jasper Jordan and Monty Green to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. They’re weedy and wiry and Clarke could snap them in half with one look. She’s tempted to. 

“Careful,” Murphy warns with a smirk, “they’re brutal at cards, don’t know how but they win every goddamn game they play.”

“Please,” Josie scoffs, “Clarke’s made grown men cry playing cards, these twerps are no different.”

“I’m not here to make anyone cry,” Clarke mutters, “I’m making a point, that’s all.”

She’s not really sure what the point is, but she’s sure there’s one to make. The whole of Arkadia is here to watch them play poker, gathered around an old cracked table drinking from their bottles. While she watches, she thinks they’re probably average players at best, and everyone else in town must be criminally bad. She’s about to show them a game, though. 

She saunters over to the table with the smile that worked wonders on the men in every other town, women too. It works wonders here, too—if the way Jasper blushes is anything to go by.

“Well howdy boys, what’s happening here?” she drawls, Japer tugs at his collar and averts his eyes from her cleavage. 

“Miss Griffin,” he gulps with a nod—so they do know who she is. “We were just going at some cards.”

“Well you wouldn’t mind if I joined, would you?” She bats her eyelashes, not that needs to—they’re already putty in her hands. “You see, my saloon isn’t doing as good as I’d hoped so I need something to do. Which is a damn shame, because I think my  _ special drinks _ could rival yours any day.”

Jasper blinks for a moment, pulling himself out of his daze. She’s pleased to know she still has that effect on men, even the dead. “Well I wouldn’t want to cause no disrespect, Miss Griffin, but my moonshine is the best damn thing in this town.”

So, they’re calling it Moonshine—Clarke had never really known what to call it, potion seemed like she should be hunched over some cauldron in a hovel in the woods, and she doubts she’d be able to sell it to Josie calling it that. She can run with Moonshine, sure.

“Well why don’t we play for it, if I win you bring your crowds to my saloon for a taste test, nothing wrong a little healthy competition, is there now?”

Jasper agrees with a nod, and the table clears, the game restarted and the town seems even more enthused than they were before, leaning forward enthralled by the game. She guessed nothing exciting ever happens around here. 

She’s dealt a goddamn awful hand, but she knows how to play it to her advantage. Never give the game away, good or bad never let them know what your hand is. 

But the cards go her way, and Jasper Jordan is either a godawful actor or the best one she’s ever seen. She doesn’t care to find out though, because while she might not have a royal flush, she’s got better than a pair. It could be better, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. 

Josie sits next to her, tapping her fingers on the table and Monty sits next to Jasper, chewing on his tobacco. Both are there to distract the other, but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to distract her. 

“Okay,” Jasper finally declares with a smirk, “you win, we have a drink off, the best moonshine wins. I win, and your saloon stays as dead as it was before—it’s the law of the game, you made the rules.”

Clarke’s confident enough in her poker abilities, and she thinks she’s worked out enough of his ticks she thinks, that she’s pretty sure she’s won this one. Jasper lays down his hand with a smirk, and Clarke grins triumphantly and slaps down hers on the table, a full house over a strike, she’s won by a golden mile. Jasper stares in dismay, he’s not used to losing, and especially not to a woman.

“A deals a deal,” she reminds him as Josie laughs loudly in glee, as if there was any doubt she’d lose. Her saloon’s about to be full. 

Jasper’s a surprisingly good loser, but he’s entirely too smug about having the best moonshine around here. She’s never tasted it, but she doesn’t need to, Josie’s brutal enough in her criticism that she knows hers is the best. 

But still, she’ll go through the motions of proving it, if not for anything more than a bit of entertainment. The crowd follows them to the saloon, she imagines this is the most fun they’ve had in a long time. She’s happy to provide that, god only knows she’s used to creating some entertainment. 

She puts her moonshine in a glass, and Jaspers in another and slides it to someone at the end of the bar, they’re inconspicuous and removed enough to hopefully be impartial. 

Clarke leans over the bar towards him, he gulps when Clarke smiles at him, “Now I’m not telling you who's who's, you gotta guess that one for yourself.”

He looks nervously down at the drinks, looking between the two. She knows which glass is hers and which is Jaspers, but no one else does. Well, Josie probably does, but that’s beside the point—there’s not a lot that Josie doesn’t know.

“Go on,” Murphy goads, “try them, what’s the worse that’s going to happen, you’ll die? Too late for that.”

With a nervous hand, the man at the end of the bar tries Jaspers, and curls his lips up in disgust. “Jaspers,” he spits, “tastes awful.”

Jasper makes a noise of protest, but Clarke puts her hand up to stop him, there’s no cheating here. He pouts but doesn’t say anymore as their taster tries Clarke’s drink.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he blinks, “this is the best moonshine I ever drank, I feel almost alive again.”

Clarke’s smugness is overtaken by the rush of orders she suddenly has, everyone wants a glass and Jasper’s still sulking in the corner. She can’t focus too much on him though, not when she’s got the entire of Arkadia to serve with only her and Josie behind the bar. Murphy and Bellamy help eventually, incredibly smug that they got to try it first, and they helped build up this place from nothing. 

Clarke very loudly reminds them they put a few coats of paint on, not rebuilt it from ruins. There’s a heckle from the crowd at that, and Clarke thinks that life here must have been really, really boring. 

When everyone’s got a drink and talking about how they feel alive again, Clarke takes a cup over to Jasper sitting in the corner with a face on him.

“Here,” she smiles, sliding the moonshine over to him. “No hard feelings?”

“Depends on how good this moonshine is,” Jasper mutters, grimacing into his glass. He takes a swig then scrunches his nose up. “Yeah, no hard feelings, this is better than mine could ever be.”

“You didn’t sell your soul for the recipe,” Clarke jokes, but it’s not really a joke, because that’s what she did, but she won’t talk about that. “And you don’t have a hell of a fussy woman spitting the bad recipes back at you.”

Jasper looks over Josie, she’s got a crowd around her, telling some extravagant story of their life on the road. “You must really love her, to do that.”

Maybe he sees more than she gave him credit for. “Yeah,” she sighs, “I love her, and I wasn’t willing to let her go over a goddamn bullet.”

Jasper contemplates this for a moment, looking around at the town drinking and laughing in her saloon, they’re a big family, all brought together by tragedies she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Everybody had someone who loved them like that before, Josie’s lucky you’re still around.”

Jasper looks like a kid, a good few years younger than her but looks can be deceiving, especially in this town. He’s probably older than her by miles, got much more life experience than Clarke could comprehend. She squeezes his hand, it’s cold but still soft. 

What Clarke comes to find is everyone’s got a story to tell, and everyone wants to tell it. She and Josie are new here, they don’t know anything about anyone and this town is more than happy to fill them in. Josie takes a sick delight in the stories, almost everyone here came to a violent, tragic untimely end and most had unfinished business, a reason they’re still here. Not many of them get their justice though, and now they’re stuck in this awful purgatory—they’ve been here long enough that bygones have well and truly become bygones, but they’re stuck in this town, not wanting to give their old routine of living up. 

Clarke has met no violent end, and she has no revenge to take, the sheriff that took Josie’s life met his end by Clarke’s hand, but she’s still got Josie with her, so she came out triumphant in the end. It’s why her face is on wanted posters in every town in the West. 

She’s more than happy to sit and listen to the stories she’s told, leant over the bar until the early hours of the morning. She’s getting acquainted with this way of life, much quicker than she ever thought possible. Now it feels like she’s slotted in like she’s always been there, she can hardly remember her old life, how she lived on the road like that, always causing trouble and always on the road. 

Not everyone in the town gets along all of the time, realistically Clarke knew that wasn’t possible. They may be dead, but cowboys are cowboys and they’ll still fight. That’s how Clarke’s ended up with a collection of bullet holes in her wall. 

Murphy’s the worst culprit for it, and as irked as it gets her, she’s not so tactfully reminded that it was never like this before she got here and opened her saloon with the best tasting moonshine they’ve ever had.

So, she tries not to get too angry about it, except for one night, when she counts 47 bullet holes in her wall and Murphy takes out his gun and aims it at Jaspers head. The bullet goes straight through—naturally, and leaves another hole in the wall, that makes 48.

“Right,” she announces loudly, that really is the last straw for her tonight. Whoever was playing the harmonica in the corner stops abruptly, and everyone stops and stares at her. They’re so used to this place being carefree, somebody’s always got music going, Josie dances on the bar at least once a night and Clarke’s always up for a game of poker or to tell a tale to. “I have had just about enough of guns being shot in this place, look at the wall—there’s more holes than in a slow cowboy.”

The silence around the saloon is deafening, guilty consciences all around. “For crying out loud if you got a problem with each other go have a good old fashioned shootout but leave it out of my bar!”

There’s still a resounding silence, Clarke’s pretty confident that they won’t take it outside, what would be the point? They’re not achieving anything but satisfaction. 

“If anybody’s got a bone to pick with Murphy,” Bellamy announces all of a sudden, “high noon tomorrow, town square.”

Well, colour her wrong. But at least it’s entertainment outside of the saloon, she doesn’t get to see the sun much anymore, it’ll be nice to get out. 

In bed that night—and they actually have a bed now, made by Murphy and Bellamy so they don’t have to sleep on a mattress on the floor—Josie turns to her and says “maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Clarke hums in agreement, “not bored of the domesticated life yet?”

“Nah, it’s not bad. If I’d have known it was this much fun I’d have done it long ago.”

Clarke smiles softly, “maybe we should have, our lives would have ended up a hell of a lot less tragically.”

“Hey,” Josie frowns, “I wouldn’t change it for the world. We’re right where we’re supposed to be, you and I.”

She’s right, and Clarke thinks that if there wasn’t some tragedy to their stories, they wouldn’t end up with the family they’ve found here. They would always be left wondering what could be, what they could be doing instead. 

They’ve found a home here, more than she’s ever expected to have. Her and Josie’s life was on the road, but now it’s serving a tiny town to keep them almost alive, and Clarke wouldn’t have it any other way.

*

At high noon the next day, the town huddles up in the town square with their guns and their vendetta’s against Murphy. Clarke stands back with her arms crossed, Josie next to her practically buzzing with excitement. 

“You got a vendetta against Murphy?” Clarke asks with a smirk.

“Nah, but it’s fun to shoot at people without actual consequence. Besides, I’m sure Murphy’s pissed me off at some point.”

“What about when he drank your moonshine last week?”

“Ha!” Josie shouts, victorious. “I knew there’d be something.”

Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately at her. Back in the good old days, they never lost a shootout, and by god they had many. Worst they came out with was a grazed arm. 

What Clarke would give for those days again, but then, there’s no point in thinking like that. 

“Wait,” Murphy shouts, he’s standing opposite Raven Reyes, Clarke doesn’t know what issues they have, but she doesn’t care either, she just wants to see some good old entertainment without the blood. “Miss Griffin, you’re gonna have to take a step back, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to clean up any blood, and I don’t plan on doing that today.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, and through the annoyance of being mollycoddled, a surge of affection for the town blooms in her chest. 

The shooting starts then, and everyone in town seems to have a bone to pick with Murphy. It’s good fun though, they take bets on who’s going to win, Clarke hasn’t been here all that long, and mostly she gets them wrong, but there’s nothing to bet with here, nobody wants for nothing, all they need is good company and good moonshine. 

By the end of the afternoon, the dusty cracked roads are littered with bullet shells, and she’s hot and sticky with sweat, but when someone announces they should go back to the saloon and have a drink, she can’t help but agree. 

The next day, late in the afternoon she’s playing cards with Josie, Bellamy, Murphy and Jasper. Josie’s got a pout on her, she’s got a rubbish poker face and doesn’t even try to hide it. Murphy’s got a good hand, she knows because his eyebrow flicks whenever he looks over his cards. She can’t read Bellamy, but she’s getting there, she thinks he might have a bad hand, he keeps chewing on the inside of his cheek and Clarke thinks that might be a tick. She’s about to find out though. 

There’s no point in trying to read Jasper, she doesn’t think he’s actually very good at this without cheating, and Clarke’s much too good of a cheater for him to even try it with her. 

Monty slams the saloon doors open as Jasper’s about to fold, he’s not getting anywhere with his cards and it’s making him antsy. Murphy’s going to be insufferable if he wins this. 

“You need to hide,” Monty tells her, his eyes wide with fear. There’s a panic in him that she’s never seen before, he’s usually the most chilled out one of all of them, except for maybe Jasper. 

“What in gods name is going on?” Murphy grumbles, “I was just about to wipe the floor with this little twerp.”

“There’s a man going around looking for Clarke, he’s got her wanted poster, he wants the reward off of it.”

Clarke freezes, it was only a matter of time before this happened. She knew her past would catch up with her eventually, she just hoped she had more time.

“You two go hide,” Bellamy tells them, nodding his head towards their room upstairs, “we got this.”

Clarke nods shakily and takes off upstairs with Josie, sitting on the bed and trying not to make a sound. She can hear the rumble of an unfamiliar voice downstairs, Josie squeezes her hand, she’s sure it’s supposed to be reassuring, but it fills her with dread instead. Josie’s supposed to be dead, and Clarkes got a death sentence hanging over her head, being seen here is a sure way to cash in that death sentence.

She hears her name being said, and Murphy and Bellamy telling him that they’ve never even heard of her, let alone seen her around here. Whoever gave him his information must be wrong. 

He leaves eventually, but he promises this isn’t the last they’ve seen of him, he knows she’s here and he’s coming to find her. 

“Come on,” Josie whispers, pulling on her hand gently. “Let's go see what they have to say.”

Clarke can’t bring herself to go down there, this town is supposed to be a safe haven, not just for her and Josie, but everyone else who’s supposed to have passed on, and she’s putting all of that in danger. 

Before long, the entire towns crowded around the bar, demanding to know what’s going on. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke tells them sincerely, “I didn’t mean to bring any trouble around here, I promise.”

“Sorry?” Murphy snorts, “What are you sorry for, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Nothing interesting ever happened before you two rolled into town.”

“I’m not sure that’s a glowing recommendation but thank you anyway,” she mutters, then turns to Josie, “I can show you how to make the moonshine, and you’ll be safe here. But I can’t stay any longer, not if it puts everyone else in danger.”

Josie shakes her head, tears filling her eyes, “No. Where you go I go, remember? We made a pact and I’m sticking with it. If you’re going on the run I’m coming with you.”

Clarke wants nothing more than to stay with Josie, to go back on the run like the good old days, but it’s not safe for her, not anymore. “You can’t, your place is here—mine’s not. I promised you I’d keep you safe and alive and here is the only place that can happen, but only without me here. They know I’m here now, they won’t stop until I’m in the gallows.”

“As sweet as this moment is,” Murphy grumbles, “What happens if you die, wouldn’t you just turn into one of us if you take the Moonshine?”

Clarke chews on her lip, “it don’t work like that, I had to make an agreement with the witch to get here, I got her recipe and she got my soul. When I go, I’m gone for good.”

The words lay heavy in the air, it’s the first time she’s said that out loud, and although Josie knew that was the case, they’ve spoken about it before. 

“No,” Raven Reyes announces loudly suddenly, “no way are you running from this. This is your home as much as it is anybody else's. You should get to live here too. Surely you got more than a recipe from the witch—with moonshine like that I’d say you got some of her powers, too.”

It’s true, a basic moonshine recipe is easy enough to make, it takes a little sacrifice, but nothing that a desert critter couldn’t provide. But Clarke wanted more than that, she could see that it wasn’t enough for Josie, that still every day she was wasting away, she was there but not really, she wasn’t her old self anymore. So she made a sacrifice she couldn’t take back—a soul for a soul.

She might have something about her, some kind of magic left over from the witch, but she wouldn’t even know where to begin, and what was she going to do, anyway? Turn herself invisible? Erase everyone’s memory of her? She’s not a witch, she doesn’t know how to do these kinds of things.

“You know,” Bellamy speaks up suddenly, for a moment she’d forgotten she was in a crowded saloon, surrounded by people begging her to stay. Most of her life Josie had been her only family, the only person she needed to care about and the only person who cared about her. She wasn’t used to such an overwhelming love surrounding her. “There’s all sorts of strange old books lying around in the library. I ain’t saying there’s something there, but it’s worth a shot.”

Clarke bites her lip, she doesn’t want to put anybody out because there’s a mob after her, but then—she doesn’t want to leave here, either. For the first time she’s found a home, a family and a sense of belonging that doesn’t involve scams or robbing old men. 

“It’s worth a shot,” she agrees with a tight smile. 

What she didn’t expect is for the whole damn town to volunteer to search through dusty old books with her. It’s a group effort, one that makes her too emotional if she thinks about it too much. But there’s a hell of a lot more books than there are people, and it takes them until the sun is long gone and the only light they get is from a few candles dotted around. It’s a good job it’s only her who needs sleep, and she’s much too riled up to even think about it right now. 

Finally, after hours of searching and being on edge that someone’s riding into town to get her, there’s a breakthrough.

“I don’t understand a word of this book,” Jasper complains loudly. She knows they might just have struck gold. Without a word, she takes the book from him and looks over it. They’re words that are completely unfamiliar to her, yet somehow she understands them, and somehow—it’s exactly what she’s looking for. 

“I don’t believe it,” Clarke laughs, “It’s all here, everything I needed was in the town all along.”

It tells her exactly what she needs, and so much more—but there’s no time to dwell on that, times wasting and there’s only going to be so long until someone comes looking for her, especially if words got out that she’s here. 

They head back to the saloon, Clarke gathering everything she needs, anything she doesn’t have someone is willing to find for her until finally, she has a pot of something that smells like it should have tipped down a drain a few days ago, and an uneven haircut. 

“Hey Jasper,” she calls, “how’d you like a taste of my new moonshine recipe?”

If Jasper had a brain, he might be dangerous. But luckily for her, he’s more than willing to take a drink of whatever she passes him without question. There’s a beat of silence around the bar as Jasper drinks, then in the blink of an eye, he’s not Jasper anymore, and the saloons filled with a burst of unruly laughter as they take in his appearance. 

“What?” Jasper frowns, “what’s going on?”

He’s her, Clarke can’t decipher a single difference between him and the reflection she sees in the mirror. “Well, you’re mighty pretty if I may say so myself.”

That only brings more confusion for Jasper, and more laughter from everyone else. Jasper looks down then, and his eyes widen comically. “When did I get these?”

“It’s safe to say it worked,” Josie grins leaning over the bar. “Careful Jasper, I just might want to pounce you later.”

Now was the hard part, waiting it out. 

*

It doesn’t happen as fast as she thinks it will, she’s convinced herself that it would happen overnight, that someone was going to come and find her and send her to the gallows.

She should have known that they were waiting for the top dogs to arrive, she should have known it won’t just be any old cowboy after her. She is armed and extremely dangerous, after all. 

When it does come, she’s completely unprepared. It’s Raven who bursts into the saloon, she saw something on the lookout, or rather—someone who looks a lot like the sheriff from a few towns over. Clarke got more than her fair share of riches from that town, it’s only fitting that it’s him who comes to take her to her death.

“Okay,” she nods, taking a deep breath. The news spreads like wildfire, and soon enough, everyone’s in the saloon taking their place. She passes around the drink, it’s been ready since that first night, just waiting for the right time to drink it. 

She has to admit, a saloon full of her is a little off-putting, but at least she knows what’s going on. 

Clarke’s anxiously cleaning the bar down, there’s not a spec of dirt on it, but she needs something to do with her hands, else she might go insane just standing here. When the doors finally slam open, Clarke has to stop herself from looking up too quickly, reminding herself to keep calm, they've prepared for this. 

“Howdy,” she smiles, revelling in the look of confusion and horror on the Sheriff's face. “What can I do for you? We got some killer whiskey out the back.”

“The moonshine’s to die for,” someone pipes up, she’s not quite sure who though, everyone looks the same. 

“What in god's name?” The Sheriff mutters, Clarke probably deserves everything that’s coming to her, she’s cheated death one too many times, but she’ll carry on doing just that if it means she gets to stay here. 

“What’s the matter?” Someone asks, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The Sheriff decides he doesn’t want to stick around to see which Clarke is the real one, it’s disappointing really, she could watch him stare around in horror all day. He turns on his heels and flees the town, once known as a ghost town, god only knows what they’re going to say about it now.

They can say whatever they want about it, they can say the worst things they can think of, all that matters is that no one comes back, and if they do, she knows what they need to do. 

“So,” Murphy smirks later that night, it’s been an eventful night as well. The town felt there was plenty to celebrate, and while whiskey doesn’t affect them anymore, they seem to have a damn good time drinking moonshine, and she supposes that’s just as good - feeling alive again. “What was in the book? Anything good about this dead old town?”

Clarke dries a glass with a smile, around her, there’s laughter and music, Josie’s dancing on a table and everyone’s happy, not a single person’s drawn a gun all night - so that’s an achievement in itself. “Does it make a difference? It’s not gonna change nothing.”

“So there was something good in there,” Murphy grins, it’s a rare, genuine smile that’s hard to find sometimes, but Clarke knows there’s a heart there, deep down behind his bravado. “There’s gotta be a reason for us all being drawn here.”

She looks around at the ghosts she chooses to spend her life with, they’re her family, and without this place, she’d still be on the road, looking over her shoulder and never truly belonging anywhere. 

“You really want to know?”

Murphy nods, and Clarke looks around once more, this place deep in the dusty desert, with it’s flaking buildings and heart of gold, it’s a beautiful place. “It’s built on cursed land, you’re not drawn here, it’s cursed to keep away the living, it’s why everyone feels so good here, so alive.”

“So how come you’re here? If it’s supposed to keep away the living, how can you stay?” Murphy frowns in confusion. It’s not his fault, the law of lands can be confusing when you don’t understand them. 

Clarke looks over to where Josie’s laughing with Jasper and Monty, how they don’t really fade as much around the edges anymore. 

Her eyes glow subtly, just enough to let Murphy in on it. “Maybe I was never alive in the first place.”


End file.
